Close to Home
by highsOffyou
Summary: An upstart rocky romance brews for Curt. But just when he's starting to settle and let go of his grief, he learns more about Brian, like it or not. Could the new dirt break the new bond?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: It pains me to remind myself every time, but I don't own the movie or the characters.

This is one of those stories that hounded me until I decided to post it. Anyhoo, it looks like it's going to be more than my usual "flangst." That aside, it might just go somewhere with proper direction….

**"Close to Home"**

Once Curt had finished a stint with one person, he would move on to another one. This became like a habit now—no—a routine. It was his way of human recycling, and each heart broken (whether it was his or not) was another dose of reality that shot him back. But it was temporary. And when its effects have faded, he'd return to the way he was before he started.

She was younger, much younger than he was. Curt thought that this young woman that he was with now seemed promising. He figured that he'd let her stick around for a month or two, maybe more.

Curt felt great when he was with her. She had a kind of beauty that wasn't exactly pretty, but striking and powerful. He had a hard time explaining for every moment she caught him staring at her so deeply. They were on a reasonably even level of intellect, with Curt always in search of a fellow dreamer, and somewhat of a realist at the same time to keep him at bay. He found that in her, alright. There was this quality she had that made him excited about life again. All her little quirks fed into her resonating persona, all at once exhilaratingly reckless but also rationally controlled.

It took three weeks. Three weeks had passed and Curt begun to forget about Brian almost completely. After those three weeks, either he wouldn't think of Brian at all, or he would, but it wouldn't be out of sadness or regret. It would be of something warm, sweet, happy; like a fond memory. God. It was about time too. How long ago was it that he and Brian separated? It must've felt like decades.

In all those years he never found out what became of his former love, where he disappeared to. If maps were made of tears he would've had the entire world at his hands. Still, maps were of no use if you didn't know where the hell to look. But three weeks ago, Curt had no idea what he was looking for, but he found it anyway.

Rhea Rowe was the name of his new girl. He thought it was quite a classy name for a street-whore. He remembered speaking to her condescendingly, feeling ashamed now, considering that at the time he was pouring cold sweat, convulsing every half-minute, and feeling like he was going to throw up. Any hooker, no matter how scum-poor or dead-starving, would've thought twice before going along with someone in the state he was in.

Regardless, she bit part of the bait that was more for him than for her. Hours later, he would realize that his kerb-crawling search for a sexual tryst was meant to be something more.

"You stick yourself?" she asked Curt, who was only starting to wake.

"What's it to you?"

"It's not good. Not to mention it brings more writhing than necessary." she answered confidently.

"Don't school me." Curt said, sounding a bit pissed.

"Don't kill yourself."

"What do _you_ know? Stop trying to act concerned, cause you don't know me."

Curt got up from the futon on the floor and pulled his clothes hurriedly over himself. He reached for some bills from a trouser-pocket and threw them at the girl, almost hitting her face. Then he walked away.

She spoke.

"Damage is only sweet when it's fresh. After a while it becomes rotten. It _tastes_ rotten."

Bang. Exactly the type of thing to say to stop Curt Wild in his skidding tracks.

"What are you trying to say?" he asked, almost nicely. She had his attention now.

"Nothing. I'm…trying to make sense of life."

Curt grinned a little and pulled another bill.

"No, no, no." she said, seeing Curt's action as an attempt to shut her up. "You're staying here and we're gonna talk."

"What do you want? My autograph?" Curt questioned, after a bout of shaking. His sarcasm would've been funnier if he didn't waver so much.

"Everything else."

She smiled then, as if she just won herself a prize.


	2. Chapter 2

"You think I'm gonna comply just like that?" Curt asked, snapping his fingers.

"Why not? You won't regret me." Rhea pleaded. "Besides, how's another fling with a slut gonna hurt you? What number am I, anyway?"

Curt laughed. "I have to admit, you're an amusing conversationalist."

"I can be more amusing if you let me."

(----------)

In the time that Curt first spent with Rhea, she managed to sum up her life decently. Unlike the typical conception of prostitutes, she actually originated from a family that was fairly wealthy and considerably well-known, at least, around where they lived. Curt had never heard of them.

She said that she had tutors, but even though she was taught at home, she said she wished she had a way of dropping out. Eventually, it _was_ the tutoring that caused her to drop out, in a way. Openly, she described her relationship with her science tutor to Curt. He was seven years her senior but she said that he treated her like an "equal." When they were sure that they were alone, they would take their chances. She joked that whenever that happened, she would definitely learn more than "the solar system and whatnot." Those rendezvous only lasted until she became pregnant. She lost her child but she was still disowned and written out of the family will. Too distraught to stay home or live with the tutor, she left alone. Ever since, she had been "performing," as she liked to call it. At times she got singing gigs here and there, but most often she'd be hustling herself in the streets.

(----------)

"Do I have to tell you _my_ history?" Curt asked, after hearing the finishing touches of Rhea's.

"No. I've had enough of it from the tabloids, actually."

"Good. Save me the trouble."

A strange feeling of bewilderment came over Curt when he took the time to look around him. He and Rhea were no longer in the dimly lit room, but outside, in the sunshine.

"Hey, do you always tell strangers your life-story?" Curt asked again.

"Just the ones I like." Rhea smiled. "Anyway, you're no stranger."

"Right. I forgot you lived on the streets. You know everyone." he spurted. He couldn't help but feel sorry for saying it afterwards. Luckily, Rhea took no offense in it, or appeared not to. She said nothing in return.

It grew louder everywhere. They were walking along a riverside park. Curt saw a multitude of people past Rhea's silhouette. Except when performing, Curt never did learn to like crowds. He was a selective loner. He would've rushed past the park if he was alone. But not today, not when something good was happening to him. He simply couldn't shake his head at Rhea's smiling eyes. So off they went, with Curt softly sighing.

Balloons flew off all over the place. There were carts of food rolling around. Kids were trying to feed the ducks in the river, throwing bits of whatever they had in hand and hitting the animals on their heads. It was obviously a special day, which neither Curt nor Rhea knew about.

Neither of them was hungry either, so they just walked throughout the place. They drifted from tent to tent and booth to booth. Curt observed Rhea and marveled at her ability to engage anyone in conversation. She seemed to be at incredible ease, and not one person itched to leave once she started to talk to them.

While Rhea talked to one of the men who operated the food carts, Curt's vision strayed away. His eyes meandered to a little boy who wore a sailor outfit. He was held captive of amusement. The toddler's little limbs jutted out of the sleeves and pant-legs perfectly. Meticulous detail and embroidery flattered the fit of the miniature suit. Curt looked closer and saw the child's face. Wild green eyes and short, reddish-brown waves of hair met him. Even higher, his eyes dared to look. There walked a woman beside the boy, accompanying him. She wore a suit of her own, clinging to her every curve. And then, on a folded collar was a gem. It looked so much like the pin that Brian gave Curt a lifetime ago, which he in turn, gave away also. He was disappointed to think that the person he gave it to could let go of it so easily, if indeed, that _was_ the pin. At least he had his reasons for letting it pass his possession. He almost wanted to stop the pair of mother and son to have a better look at the jewel, but he remembered Rhea. Where had she gone?

(----------)

Dragging the air about him, Curt spun around fully, wanting to be confronted by the image of Rhea, but she wasn't there. His searching gaze wove in between bodies in the throng, staring down every walking vessel that bore a resemblance to her. Nothing. He wished he could part the sea of people to make it easier.

He began to walk, still keeping a lookout. All the while he was having an inner argument with himself. He still had his doubts. Rhea was just a hair away from being a complete stranger. So she told him her life-story. What of it? It was probably embellished or diluted, maybe even totally untrue. For all he knew, she could have fabricated a memoir for each of her customers. Whatever it may have been, it didn't help to make him feel closer to her. It merely left him thirsting for something, and wondering whether he should quell that thirst or not.

Slight hatred for himself rocked Curt's indecision further. He would always be ticked at the fact that he trusted people so easily, no matter how much he disliked them. Rhea hadn't exactly professed a love for him, but she dangled traces, facets of herself, for him to chase after. But she was missing at the moment. What could she possibly be playing at? She couldn't have just left him without so much as a goodbye when she was the one who dragged him there.

At present, that wasn't important. Curt ran towards the river, towards a girl standing by its edge. With quite a distance from her, he stopped and leaned in, only to realize that it wasn't Rhea. Actually, the profile appeared more to him to be Mandy's. That made him feel stupid, uneasy. Trusting what he didn't see, he dismissed the thought and moved on, not caring to look behind.


	3. Chapter 3

Faster now, Curt sped. What was it that he was feeling? Confusion? Frustration? Fear? He racked his drug-weakened memory. _What was Rhea wearing? Was her hair up, or down?_

Not too far away, he saw the spot where he and Rhea had entered, an arch of golden balloons weighed down by and tied to rocks. He very nearly left at that point. A duck's quack shook him out of his daze and reminded him of his search. He looked to see where the quacking came from, and in the direction of his scope was Rhea, sitting on a bench. She was looking directly at him, not with a smile or a frown but with a playful, ambiguous grin, like she knew a notorious secret.

Clenching his fists to calm himself down, Curt made his way to the weathered bench accommodating Rhea. He slammed his body down, making sure to seat himself as far as he could away from her.

"You found me!" she said in delight.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" he asked calmly, trying to hide his irritation.

"Curt, don't be angry."

"You can't just tell someone to 'not be angry,' not be whatever."

"I was…I just wanted to see if you could find your way back to me."

"What the fuck kind of reason is that! You don't take anything seriously, do you?" Curt questioned, allowing his emotion to show this time.

"I'm sorry, Curt." Rhea replied timidly, retreating into herself. Then she shuffled on the bench to sit closer to Curt, who was pouting and looking off into space.

She grabbed his shoulders, turned him to face her, and kissed him full on the mouth. In surprise, Curt left his eyes open, seeing Rhea dig deeper into his lips. He closed his eyes but drew apart from her, pushing her away with undetermined strength.

"You get a kick out of playing with people?" Curt asked, his voice cracking. "Fuck." he muttered. "What are you trying to do to me?"

"Nothing—I don't get a kick out of playing with people. Look, it was the only way to…I didn't know you wanted something serious. You have to understand, I'm not used to that."

"You can forget about ever getting used to it then."

Curt could very well have leaped off of that bench. He walked off hastily, clearly seeking the golden-arched entrance. Rhea didn't run, but trailed after him. She didn't say anything to try to reconcile their situation.

(----------)

Remaining in shadows, Rhea pursued Curt. As he walked, he kept switching from side to side in the streets. And when he settled on walking on one side, he'd make a sharp turn. He knew that Rhea was following him. The constant turns made Rhea speculate if Curt knew where he was going. He only seemed to be bent on losing her.

Rhea couldn't stand it anymore.

"Curt, I'm not going anywhere." she called out to him.

No answer.

"You can go somewhere with _me_." somebody said to her.

She turned around and saw a guy, gawking at her maliciously. Another guy walked abreast with him, a similar lascivious intent clearly written on his face.

"Sorry, I'm not interested." she said coldly.

"Nice fishnets you got there." the guy said, seemingly undeterred. "Yeah, nice skirt." the other one hooted along. "You wearin anything under that?"

Curt heard this, and stopped ignoring what was behind him. He didn't make it obvious though.

"What do you say, huh?" the guy continued to taunt Rhea, now gaining hold of her elbow.

"I said I'm not interested."

She shook her arm free of the grasp, but the comrade seized her by the shoulder, burrowing his thumb into her skin.

"Not interested?" he asked mockingly. "Whores don't have a choice."

"Get the hell off of me!" she shouted.

Both men attacked her now, wrestling her against a wall. By this time, Curt was watching the whole thing unfold before him. He doubted that Rhea still knew he was there. She didn't scream for his help. Guilt got the best of him in the end, as he decided to approach her harassers slowly.

He stepped right in the middle of Rhea and the first guy and punched his face. The guy fell on the ground upon impact. The other lunged forward, but Curt punched him in the face too. He was about to deliver another blow when a kick in the back sent him diving forward. This gave the second man a chance to bend down and beat his head. While he attempted to get up, Curt saw Rhea sneak behind the first punk and hammer his head with a solid wooden plank. He smiled, but soon frowned, when the guy punched Rhea's stomach just as he was falling. She fell as well. His anger drove him to finish off the other punk, who was shocked at the status of his fallen friend.

Curt raised his arm and elbowed the guy's head. Then he pulled him in and hit his chest with his knee. Unsatisfied, he yanked the plank from Rhea's hands and smacked the area his knee had collided against on the guy's chest with it.

"How's that for 'going somewhere,' assholes?" Curt asked, kicking each of the hooligans.

"She must've fucked you good then?" the second guy struggled to ask.

"Yeah. Too bad she wouldn't do that to you." he said proudly, spitting at the man to complete his exit.

He left the mess of the two and stooped to pick Rhea up, who gave the impression of being unconscious. He carried her on his arms although he was badly hurt himself.

(----------)

Clutching her sore stomach, Rhea rose from the bed that Curt delicately laid her on. She automatically looked for Curt and found him sitting, but draped asleep, on a love seat, the slope confining to the arch of his back. There was a swell on his forehead, and some blood that dirtied it. It looked like it was wiped quickly, surely by him.

Rhea scampered about and gathered a basin with warm water, a wash cloth, antiseptic, and gauze. She hovered just above him, taking the time to admire his beauty. She knew he would wake up once she started to clean his wound.

When asleep, Curt didn't look like he was forty-two. He seemed so much younger and more peaceful. His demeanor was wiped clean, like a slate. He was innocent again, hopeful and infinitely trusting. Rhea hated to have to tamper with this, but the water was beginning to cool.

After wringing the soaked washcloth, she dabbed it gently on Curt's head. He didn't stir, and so she kissed him. She planted feathery kisses on his temples, his nose, his cheeks, and his chin. And as the task called for it, she pressed the little wet towel a bit harder to remove the blood. At this, Curt started. He opened his eyes and Rhea smiled at him.

"Why are you up?" he asked.

"I have to clean your wound."

"Aren't you hurt too?"

"Not as much as you are."

She paused to rinse and wring the cloth, and pour some antiseptic on it.

"Here comes the antiseptic." she warned Curt sweetly.

"Ah. Ouch." he recoiled, shuddering away once Rhea finished applying the stinging fluid.

She layered the gauze neatly over Curt's cut and ran off, raiding the place for medical tape.

"What are you looking for?" Curt shouted out.

"Cloth tape." Rhea voiced in retort.

"Don't bother, there isn't any here. I don't need the gauze."

Rhea returned. "This your place?"

"Yeah. I didn't know where else to take you."

She walked over to the love seat to occupy the other half. She carefully took the gauze off Curt's forehead.

"Thanks." she said gratefully.

"You're not pissed at me?"

"You saved me. I'd be an ingrate to bitch at you and shove you off." Rhea said, rubbing her arms. "Even if you didn't, you don't deserve all that, not from me."

"But I was such an asshole to you." Curt whispered apologetically.

"All the more reason for me to try harder."


	4. Chapter 4

The dodgy episode had arrived between Curt and Rhea, but managed to ease itself out in time. Accompanying the healing of Curt's bodily wound was the internal repair of frayed wires that had started to crawl to reach Rhea, but didn't quite make it. Soon after, they were made whole, with each of the fixed appendages cautiously wrapping around her. The once dwindling currents in them now ran with sparking electricity. Every spark was a virtue: empathy, kindness, understanding. Maybe love was looming ahead. They were all there to cradle her in, but never to ensnare her.

And so, time proved to be the best mode of sobering up the drunken condition of Curt and Rhea's relationship. Early on, while the cut on his forehead was still fresh, Curt would be helping Rhea because of a feeling of responsibility.

A conversation was likely to end like this:

"You _do_ care about me." Rhea would state in girlish glee.

"I pity you." Curt would testify numbly, like it was a reminder.

Both of them would stay in the flat, but wouldn't communicate unless it was absolutely necessary. They would sit apart and sleep apart. When one of them went out, the other would feel afraid. Each would be secretly scared that the other wouldn't return. Of course, the anxiety and apprehension were only false alarms. In the end, it became like a petty contest, of who had the thickness of skin to better stand the other one. There was nothing concrete to keep them as one, and yet, they stayed.

Sometimes they would eat together—that is—around the same table. They wouldn't venture on past that. Often, Rhea would eat by herself at the table, while Curt drank something as he sat on the couch in front of the television. He was drinking all the time, whatever it was. That was his staple sustenance. Rhea rarely ever saw him eat, and almost never saw him dine on a "real" meal. She cooked, always for both of them, hoping that Curt would in the very least peek at what she labored on. Occasionally, he would check to see what she cooked, but that was all he did. Everyday, Rhea would toss lots of leftovers in the garbage, enough to make her sick. One day she got tired of this.

During dinnertime, one night, Rhea spotted Curt sitting by the table and leafing through a book. A bottle of beer sat in front of him, holding down some pages. Silently, she carried plates of food in from the kitchen and placed them on the table. Curt looked up at her questioningly, and as he did this, she took the novel and the drink away. She stored them atop the coffee table, a good expanse from him. In the space made empty, she positioned a full plate, a lock of her hair brushing Curt's arm as she lowered her head. Curt stared at the plate, stared at Rhea again, and commenced on picking at the food, exhaling heavily. Rhea sat at her end of the table and watched Curt, making sure to smile every time he glanced up. _I'm a step closer_, she thought.

At over two weeks in, the slight bitterness had worn off. There were no remnants left. The awkwardness was also gone.

Curt slowly developed an appetite after tasting the meal that was, in a sense, forced on him. He ate at the table with Rhea for nearly all his meals and even helped her to set up. Now and again, they were able to start little chats, though tentative and random. They were in touch, nevertheless. It was no longer an obligation for Curt to assist Rhea. By this stage, he did it to please her.

An exchange was more likely to come across this way:

"Thanks." Rhea would say, in serious gratitude.

Curt wouldn't say a thing, but would bestow a quiet smile, which Rhea perceived as his most sincere response.

(---------------)

The supposed "fling" was lasting longer than initially expected and nearing a month. Curt planned to celebrate this, dissimilar to his former detached attachments. Those barely deserved an afterthought. With Rhea, he was able to reach a happy-medium. He found something secure to grasp, but he wasn't forever bound. Plenty of freedom roamed their bond, and freedom gave way to unrestricted love.

This new-found affection was, however, still subject to questions. Curt could just picture people fussing about and falling all over themselves because of it. He wasn't hugely famous anymore, but he continued to be a press favourite. Various newspapers and tabloids would all print their share of headlines bearing his name. They wouldn't be able to resist. Gosh, Curt Wild is actually in a _relationship_, the first one since his beloved Brian Slade. And another shocker: the lover is a girl, one that he's old enough to father. Just how would they react if they found out that she was a prostitute too? He didn't give a damn about that now, he never did. He knew what possibilities there were, going in.

One day, Curt and Rhea, in fact, did fall prey to questioning. Before attending a show, the couple stopped by an old-fashioned bookshop. Who would be there to encounter them, but Mandy. She sighted them first, but acted like she didn't. Curt entered, followed by Rhea. A little bell hung over the wooden door rang twice to signal their arrival.

Curt made his way straight to the counter, anxious to pick up a book he ordered for Rhea. He noted a blonde mass of hair that seemed to float above the owner's head as he headed down the aisles, but he made nothing of it. Mandy kept her back turned away and her nose in a book, playing a convincing role of pretending to read.

Rhea strolled amid the many rows of antique novels and volumes of encyclopedias, picking up and inspecting a few whose titles caught her fancy. She was returning one when her eyes happened to squarely clash with Mandy's. Her mouth was forming a smile, but it was stunted once she saw the look that Mandy attacked her with.

Mandy raised a snaking eyebrow, and then narrowed her eyes intensely. Her crimson lips pursed spitefully in disgust and detestation. Never a hurtful person, Rhea didn't throw a contemptuous stare in defense, but looked away. She was relieved to see Curt returning with a parcel in hand. He handed her the package, still unaware of Mandy's presence. Watching Rhea contentedly, he saw her unwrap the book with bliss, which he had gotten specially re-bound to include an inserted dedication. She ogled with awe at the wonderfully textured leather and the silver inscriptions.

Feeling another disdainful look, Rhea looked up from the custom-aged dedication page. Curt followed the path of her vision and was surprised to see Mandy. He caught her still locked in a hateful gaze toward Rhea.

"Mandy?"

"Hello, Curt." she greeted him, pretentiously amicable.

She ran into him more than usual, it seemed to Curt; more than he liked. He had forgotten how many times he wished it was Brian that he saw or ran into instead, at every instance that he saw Mandy. He didn't even care if Brian noticed that he was there or not. He just wanted to see him so badly, a single glimpse would suffice.

Lost in yearning, Curt didn't realize that Mandy had moseyed her way into the aisle that he and Rhea stood in.

"Who's the girl, Curt?" she asked, catching him unready. She behaved as if she and Curt were alone, and Rhea was just a fixture in the place.

"Oh. Ah…this is Rhea." Curt told Mandy, holding out his hand to draw his girlfriend closer to him, like he wanted protection.

Mandy didn't shake hands with Rhea to make her acquaintance, or even smile.

"Oh." she said, grim-faced. She beckoned to Curt. "Come here."

The two separated themselves from Rhea, with Mandy leading the way.

"What are you doing?" Mandy demanded, still gripping Curt's arm.

Curt jerked Mandy's hand from his forearm.

"Do you _know_ what you're getting yourself into?" she persisted.

"I'm sure I do." Curt said firmly. "And I don't need—"

"She's young, Curt." Mandy interrupted. "She's…she can leave you anytime, and then where will you be? Do you really even know her? You don't even know her, do you?"

"You don't either!" Curt exclaimed, not in anger, but in an attempt to make Mandy understand. He never saw her as an enemy. "Please, Mandy. Don't do this. I know you're only looking out for me, but let me do this on my own. Let us be."

"Fine." Mandy practically spat. "It's obvious that you don't care if she leaves you. I mean, it's what you did to Brian, right?"

She launched a last scalding glare at Curt and paced heftily out of the bookstore. Curt footed his way back to Rhea lethargically, worried that she overheard everything he and Mandy argued. His discomfort was lightly ebbed as he found her sitting on plastic crates and entranced by the poetry book.

"Come on." he blew into her ear, kneeling to reach it. He placed a hand on her shoulder and kissed her wan cheek. "We're gonna be late."


	5. Chapter 5

"Happy _almost_ monthsary." Rhea told Curt.

She sighed, neither seeing nor hearing any response from him. They were dancing, locked together and making mellow little circles along with the music. Curt had made reservations for them to hear a new band play at some high-end lounge. Normally, he would've preferred to loiter in a seedy-looking bar, but he wanted something special on this night. As Rhea noticed, however, he seemed to be troubled and restricting himself from enjoying what he had arranged.

Curt's eyes were still closed when Rhea looked at him again. His eyebrows evoked more emotion at that moment than his whole self during the show. The sickly sweet slowness of the song twanged on his soul, and he was reading the tragedy of the singer's life through the astringent pang of his voice. Rhea couldn't help but catch a sinking feeling. She kissed Curt's sealed eyelids and hugged him tighter.

"Let's go home." she whispered.

(----------)

Instead of taking a cab like they did on their way to the show, the pair walked home. They had no reason to hurry. Rhea hoped that the cool, crisp night air would wake Curt's spirit. Unaffected, he still had some sulk in his step. But Rhea was determined to change this, doing whatever was necessary to do so. She overtook Curt on the sidewalk.

"Curt, look at me!" she nearly screeched, trying to wear a high-pitched accent on her voice.

"Look, Curt!" Rhea tried again, now putting her hands on her hips. "I'm Mandy Slade." she continued, dipping her head from side to side exaggeratedly. "I'm sooo cool that I don't know which accent to use when!" And in saying this, she tried her best to shift in her diction.

A smile finally cracked on Curt's lips, which Rhea took as her personal token to link arms. So with limbs woven, the two walked on, with Rhea almost dragging Curt. Her arm's end of the chain tugged on Curt's resisting one.

(----------)

The amusement from her impression of Mandy had long faded, but Rhea was praying that it would carry on until they reached the apartment. Examining Curt's expression for the hundredth time, seemingly, she could see that it hadn't changed. It only looked clearer now, without the drowning haze of the lounge or the thickness of the night outside. That smile he gave was just a quick, and probably forced, intermission.

She _did_ hear his conversation with Mandy—all of it. She didn't want to give Curt even an inkling about this, so she kept her mouth shut. It would only worsen his condition. Walking through the scenes in her head, Rhea figured that what Mandy said last was the most hurtful thing that Curt heard in a while.

Curt dropped on the sofa like a rain-drenched petal on the ground. He was breathless and seemed to be exhausted. This was perplexing again, seeing as how he walked fairly slowly with Rhea. To him, it was complicated in the least. His heart was tired, tired and aching for something he didn't know and didn't care to discover.

Reclining slightly, he concentrated what energy he had remaining on taking his shoes off. He didn't bother to bend down and remove them by hand, but let each foot push the shoe off the other. There was some difficulty in this, and he seriously considered picking one up and hurling it at the wall to relieve his frustration. Convincing himself not to, he unzipped his jacket, accidentally running his fingers over the area where Brian's pin had been. The jacket was old, but the holes that the pin made in the leather never healed. Without thinking, he took it and threw it against the floorboards.

The noise of the jacket as it slapped the floor was enough to get Rhea's attention. She almost dreaded to turn, knowing that she would be faced with the live gloom on Curt's face again.

Everything seemed fine; there was just a man sitting on the sofa and a jacket lying on the floor. But like every illusion, nothing will quiet your doubts until you find out what makes it. Rhea was going to find and cure Curt's sore spot, even if she had to bruise him in the process.

She walked over to where Curt sat. Curt stopped short of lifting his shirt off, but didn't look up to meet Rhea's sympathetic eyes. Rhea took Curt by the elbows and stood him up. She helped him out of the shirt, and then caught hold of his face with both of her hands so that he couldn't turn away. He continued to stare down, at the floor and at his feet, but not at the nearby jacket.

"Talk to me. What's wrong?" Rhea appealed to Curt.

Short silence ensued, and then…"Nothing."

"Something _is_ the matter with you. Tell me. Did I do—?"

"You didn't do anything." Curt said, his words like nails hammering on solid wood. He turned away from Rhea.

Rhea's hands lingered on Curt's face, though his back now faced her. She slid them down his arms, the pleats of her fingers feeling his every muscle. They traveled further to his sides and settled on his waist. They coiled around Curt there, trapping him.

Resting the left side of her face on Curt's back, she kissed the track of his spine. Then shakily she murmured "I love you, no matter what." Curt gripped Rhea's right hand and slowly pried it off his stomach. Her left hand clung for dear life. Her free right hand moved to Curt's back. She took her pointer finger and used it like a paintbrush, inscribing a message on Curt's skin. She penned one letter at a time. L…O…V…E. She paused, realizing the end of Curt's struggle to break free and the beginning of hers to prevent herself from crying. M…E, she finished.

Curt faced Rhea as tears teetered on her eyes and gave her a rescuing kiss. One thing led to another and they ended up on the bed. Suddenly Curt was getting signals of anxiety, and this, mingled with copious variations of sadness sent him into reeling confusion. He was nervous because this was only going to be the second time he was going to make love to Rhea. He was scared. He was mixed up but he wanted to be made love to.

Actually, this was going to be the first time he was going to _make love_ to her. The first time was just sex, plain and cold. This was going to be some sort of confirmation, like consummation after marriage. And, it was going to mean much more. Curt waited this long in the hopes of exactly that. He didn't want to just fuck her senseless right away. But, he didn't expect that it would happen at such a turbulent moment.

Outstretched on the sheets, Curt took a back seat on the love-making, fearing that his contributions would be mechanical in his presently damaged state. Rhea writhed on top of him. She kissed him everywhere passionately, wanting to nourish all the need in him.

(---------------)

Morning found the fate-challenged lovers asleep, with dried tears and quiet wishes of a better day than the last. Always the first riser, Rhea woke to have her usual time of studying Curt. She found all sorts of things just by looking at him, some that he surely wouldn't have told her.

On this instance, she was fixated on his left arm. She had seen them before, the holes where he injected his drugs, and like other times she trembled inside at the sight of them. This time, it looked like there were more. Wrapped in a curious combination of love and pity, she left hot kisses on his arm. She situated one on every gash, as if the heat from her lips would be enough to erase them.

Curt fell out of sleep and was startled to see what Rhea was doing to his arm. He didn't want to yank it away from her, but he wanted her to stop. He was ashamed more than anything.

"Rhea, stop. Pleaaase, stop." he begged with a teary, weary voice.

Rhea unfastened from Curt's arm and rose to the pillow where his head was nestled. She embraced him and closed her eyes, feeling secure in the comfort Curt's presence provided.

"I love every part of you." she whispered. "The broken parts, the whole. The strong and the weak."

"It's funny." Curt spoke. "After all the shit you have to swallow and all the needle-eyes you have to squeeze through, people expect you to emerge stronger and tougher. They can't see that you can turn out to be just as weak as when you started, maybe weaker."

Rhea didn't answer. She didn't know what to say. She felt bad for Curt and afraid for herself. The trepidation appeared to have transferred from him to her, only that with her, it couldn't find a way to express itself.

_Note_: So-em, more Curt/Rhea development in this chapter. The juicy bits and excessive drama will arrive soon! It will all come rushing in...


	6. Chapter 6

Fear. This was what Rhea was experiencing. Where it came from or why it came at all escaped her. Maybe it was that hanging feeling you get when you think that something's too good to be true. Whatever the case, all she wanted to be sure of was that it didn't interfere with her and Curt. But, she questioned herself more often—Wasn't fear the heart of love? And then she'd answer herself the same way always—No, not when only one person has it.

It was after four months now. It had already been months since Curt and Rhea met, and forever since that testy period of trial. Compared to then, they were at the peak of their relationship, at the mark where they can finish each other's sentences. Curt's sporadic breakdowns occurred less. Even so, there was something skulking behind the feeling of soundness and security. Curt was more stable, but also more sullen. He held no grief, but also no elation. Had he just gotten worse?

(---------------)

After an outing, one afternoon, Rhea was unexpectedly stricken ill. Curt, never having any of the basic necessities at his flat, sent himself on an errand. He went to the nearest drug store he knew of, a family-owned pharmacy. When he arrived there, he stood befuddled at the counter. He left the apartment right away and didn't really inspect Rhea for her symptoms. Feeling aloof, he simply bought every given treatment: one for colds and coughs, one for fever, and several others for stomach problems. As he pointed to the clerk for the medicine, he caught sight of the holes on his arm. His three-quarter sleeve pulled back as he stretched, and he remembered the jacket that he had forgotten in his haste. Nobody else saw the breaks in his skin, but he returned his arm to his side quickly.

(----------)

On his way back, one other thing gave Curt a start. He saw Mandy again. And this time, she didn't see him. He watched her for a bit as she slightly fumbled by a payphone. She was fidgety and looked like she didn't want to be noticed. While Curt risked to inch closer, he could see her hovering a hand over the mouthpiece end of the receiver, keeping her lips partially out of view.

Just when Curt was becoming comfortable on the soft sod he stood on, Mandy turned around, blinking rapidly. Curt walked ahead before she caught him in her field of vision. He hurried on, even when he was well past her and wondered why he had done so. Why didn't he want her to see him? It wouldn't have been a big deal, even if he was still a little sore about what she said to him.

(----------)

Harboring an indescribable emotion, Curt went up the stairs of the apartment building. Ready to be met with a weak, yet full hug from Rhea, he pushed through the door of his unit. What confronted him was a normal scenario, but it would turn into the most distressing happenstance yet.

Not a creak was produced by the hinges of the door as Curt opened it.

"No, he's not." he heard Rhea say, still delaying his entrance at the mouth of the flat.

She stopped on the verge of speaking another word when he made the door swing fully open.

"Bye." Rhea uttered dryly and hung up. "What do you have there?" she asked Curt.

"Stuff for you." He went to push the door closed and then positioned himself in the middle of the room. "Who was that?" he posed, wishing away what distrust was beginning to form in his mind.

"No one." Rhea said creakily.

"Why aren't you in bed? I thought you had something."

Rhea closed her eyes for a second, perhaps in defeat. She had forgotten to return to where Curt left her. She was about to say something to salvage her situation, when Curt made his way to the armoire that she leaned against.

He felt her forehead. It wasn't hot, or even warm; not sweaty, clammy, or anything characteristic of sickness. Something clicked in Curt's head.

"Who were you talking to on the phone?" he asked once more, in his dangerous monosyllabic tone that Rhea had grown to look out for.

"Um…just. It was…."

"Who was it?" Curt inquired again, his voice sinking deeper to threat. He hadn't realized, but he had placed a hand on his waist, waiting in aggravated anticipation for the identity of the caller.

"Nobody you know." Rhea answered, almost speeding out of the room shortly after. She didn't even know where she was going or what she was going to do; maybe to the bathroom to lock herself away, before Curt threw a fit.

Curt looked at the area-rug, where Rhea's slippered feet had been planted, and breathed heavily. He prodded the toe of his boot into the floor, as if to kill the sparks of a cigarette.

"Rhea." he called out.

Rhea didn't lock herself in the bathroom, but retreated to the bed. The sheets and comforters were pulled over her all the way up, so that she looked like a rising mound from the mattress.

Curt had made his way into the bedroom before Rhea could afford to cry in solitude, like she wanted to do. She struggled to suck it up and kept her head down.

"Who was it?" Curt asked yet again, returning to his frighteningly low voice. He could hear stifled sobs coming from his girlfriend.

At a situation like this, benevolent Curt would have climbed into bed with Rhea and hushed all her tears away even if it meant reducing himself to "goo-goos" and "ga-gas." Right now, something was off, and flustered, insensitive Curt had taken over.

He moved from the foot of the bed and towards Rhea, ripping the sheets off her furiously. He reached out and pulled her up, jerking her from a fetal position.

Rhea had given in and was starting to cry like mad. Curt jumped back to his cross-examination as soon as she was upright and seated.

"Tell me who was on the goddamn phone."

Whimpering was all Rhea was capable of, but this would not satisfy Curt.

"Who!"

"I told you." she said helplessly.

"You're lying to me. You can't be fucked up like this, telling me the truth. You can't even look at me! Now just tell me. Who was on the fucking phone!"

"It was Mandy, alright! That's who was on the fucking phone."

"I knew it. What did she tell you, huh? She tell you to leave me? She telling lies about me again?"

Curt was walking back and forth, and Rhea was beginning to have trouble following him with her eyes.

"She couldn't leave me alone. She couldn't leave _us_ well enough alone. I'm gonna go to her. And so help me…. I'm gonna—" he pattered, in a self-created atmosphere of soliloquy.

"Curt, don't. Don't do anything to her."

"Why not? Why are you trying to protect that bitch? All she's done is try to ruin us!"

"She's my mother, for Christ's sake!"

Curt's mouth hung agape and his blood curdled to the surface of his skin.

"What!" he shouted.

"It's true. _That's_ true—I'm not lying anymore."

Curt became silent. His weight was stably settled on his right foot but he felt like he was losing balance. Everything struck at him at the same time from all angles.

"That means…the bookstore, even the park. All this time you were just fuckin' playing with me!"

"No!" Rhea yelled, disintegrating into tears for the third time.

Curt gave a short, heartless chuckle. "Was this some sort of plan you had?"

"There _is_ no plan. There never was! But that's not all." Rhea sighed, hanging her head low.

"What? What else have you kept from me? No wait—don't tell me. You're really a man, aren't you? Cause no woman can suck me off that well." Curt bombarded. He could care less if he was turning into an asshole.

"Brian's my father." Rhea said meekly, but clearly.

"Brian? Slade?" Curt asked, hoping that the disbelief would never leave him.

"Yeah." Rhea mumbled with eyes frozen, desperately wishing that the blood keeping her alive had no traces of the Slade family-line.

That was it. The wick of Curt's patience had burned out.

"Why? Why, Rhea? You knew how much I've wanted to see him!"

"Because he already had his chance and he fucked up. I wanted _mine_!"

"And lying straight through your teeth was the way to do it!" Curt questioned crossly.

"No! God…. Look, I know how you feel. You didn't know my reasons so you're hating me right now. You—"

"Fuck-no. You can't even begin to _imagine_ how I feel right now!"

Curt toppled a lamp with one swift motion. Then he took a candle-holder that was on the same table with the lamp and started to beat the wall with it. Angry tears seemed to heighten his distressed vision instead of blurring it. He hacked fiercely into the defenseless plywood and left the scuffed candle-holder wedged among the damaged layers.

"Curt…." Rhea attempted to make vocal contact. She braced herself and tried to approach him. "Please stop." she said, her false bravado peeling to reveal her fright. "You're scaring me baby. Talk to me, and we can fix things up, like we always do."

"I don't wanna fucking talk to you! I don't wanna fix things up! And I don't wanna scream at you anymore." Curt said, starting with rolling thunder and ending with a muted rumble. "It all just ends the same way, over and over and over."

He kicked every available object as he repeated the word.

"What can I do then?" Rhea appealed, when the worst of Curt's bitter outburst had subsided. "If you can't love me anymore, at least forgive me."

Curt pushed away from the wall he had his hands up against and trudged in the direction of a windowsill.

"Take me to Brian tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

In the cold light of morning, Curt went back to his flat. He had abandoned it during the night, along with Rhea.

"Let's go." he whispered to her. She got up in a jolt, even though she was already awake.

(----------)

Curt smoked in the kitchen while he waited for Rhea to dress. He put out the cigarette when she emerged from the bedroom, dragging the lighted tip on the surface of a table.

Without a sound and only with unspoken communication, they left the apartment and headed for the train station in silence.

(---------------)

Sharing a cubicle grew to be uncomfortable for Rhea. She second-guessed her relationship with Curt more than ever; she doubted its strength.

She looked at him and was surprised at herself for not wanting to kiss his lips, feel his hair, or commit any other little act of compensation. She took his left hand in her right and laced her fingers between his. What was this she was doing now? She wasn't compensating. She was settling for defeat. Fate had won.

Curt shuffled, shivering in his sleep. Rhea remembered that he had also been quivering when they were waiting in line to purchase tickets. She gripped his hand tighter and fell asleep eventually, shutting her inflamed eyes for the first time since Curt left her the night before.

(---------------)

Brian wasn't there when Curt and Rhea arrived at his house. It had a feeling of desolation, like no one had been there in years. Yet, as they walked through its halls and observed every other trinket or piece of furniture, there were no sheets of dust to suggest neglect.

Rhea made Curt stay in her old room after a maid ushered them in. She promised to call him when her father came home.

Just when she was exiting the room, Curt tried to retrieve her.

"Don't leave." he whispered, with almost no emotion.

"I have to wait for Brian." she returned, matching the lonely depth of Curt's voice.

"Don't leave me." he said again, like he didn't hear or comprehend her refusal.

"I…I have to keep a lookout for him. He can just come and go as he pleases, and then…then our trip would've been for nothing." Rhea reasoned.

She didn't think she could stand being in the same room with Curt—that was the actuality. There was too much shame, too much guilt racking her all over.

"Well you're home, aren't you?" Curt said weakly. "That's not nothing."

Rhea paused by the door, letting Curt's light encouragement wash over her momentarily. She fanned her lashes once, ever-so-slowly, and sighed as the door clicked shut.

(----------)

Sure enough, an hour or two later, Brian was back. He nearly dropped his keys when he saw who was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

"Rhea? What happened? What are you doing here?" he tossed his words in mid-panic.

"Brian—Dad, I brought Curt with me. He wants to see you." Rhea fronted, not bothering to explain.

Brian's heart-rate shot up on a higher octave before it had the chance to go down.

"What? Why'd you bring him here?" he inquired in aggravation.

"Please. It's all he's wanted."

"But—" Brian replied, apparently ready to object.

"I'll get him." Rhea said, and raced back to her room before Brian could say another word.

(----------)

Moments after, there were piercing shrieks bellowing from Rhea's old bedroom. Brian rushed to the source of commotion and found his daughter weeping like the world had ended.

Rhea had thrown herself over a peaceful-looking Curt, who was sitting lifelessly on the floor, against a chair.

All of Brian's hesitance dissolved at the sight of his old love, now dead. It appeared like he dove towards him. He picked Curt's head up and off the chair. Rhea backed away and watched her father embrace Curt, binding around him so tightly it looked like he was choking air out of his already breathless body. She joined him in his violent and trembling sobs, crying at how tragically undone the two men she loved the most had become.

Rhea felt sick. She fled from the place and left Brian rocking Curt to heaven, only seeing the swollen veins on Curt's limp arms in her mind.

(---------------)

Some sort of dreary feeling remained even weeks after Curt's burial. Rhea could remember it well. Her mind always recounted what she didn't want to.

It seemed like everyone came; she and Brian, Jack, Jerry, Trevor, Malcolm, Shannon, and Mandy. Not surprisingly, Rhea avoided her like the plague, wouldn't even look at her. When she presented Curt's eulogy at his funeral, she tried very hard to keep her eyes on the violet carpet that was patterned with footprints of the mourners. If she looked up, she kept her eyes bolted over everybody's heads. She didn't want to be met with Mandy's red, swollen face; or worse, the endless, sickening eyes of pity. Rhea hated to be pitied. To her, it was cheap sympathy—given only because it was necessary.

At the burial, it was Mandy who cried the most throughout. Whether it was when Brian sang his self-written dirge or when some unknown men lowered the casket into the wet soil, she wept. More tears seeped out of her eyes than Brian's, and she even bawled more than Rhea.

Brian wore sunglasses. The thickest make-up couldn't shadow the darkened, tear-beaten wells under the folds of his eyes. Rhea didn't hide her breakdown.

Breakdowns, emotional degeneration and tears, weren't enough. Rhea felt Mandy's tears to be as true as any one of her accents. And just to suppress what was tearing at her from the inside, she confronted her mother.

"So, you're sad that Curt's dead?" Rhea asked, her mocking delivery barely sheathed.

"What kind of question is that?" Mandy countered. "_Everybody_ is sad that Curt's dead. You're not the only one hurting."

"Yeah. I bet you're sad you couldn't watch him die." Rhea stated stoically.

"Listen to me!" Mandy snatched Rhea by the shoulders. "I never wanted Curt to die! Why can't you believe that!"

"Why couldn't _you_ understand to leave us alone!" Rhea contested, unleashing herself from Mandy's hold. "He would've still been here."

"Don't hate me for something I didn't do. If you wanna hate me for being a fucking lousy mother, do that. Don't place Curt's death on my hands."

"I don't hate you." Rhea said callously. "But I don't wanna see you ever again."

She turned away, leaving Mandy in the misty cold. Brian looked on from a distance, glad that he had escorted all the people away earlier. He didn't try to intermediate and throw his former wife a safety rope. He was neither more nor less disconnected from her than his daughter.

(---------------)

"At least you can give Curt something that I could never have given, and never can." Brian comforted Rhea, strolling through his garden with her, one evening.

"I guess." Rhea said optimistically, stroking the forming bulge on her belly. She hugged Brian and kissed his cheek, then went off on her own.

A doting warmness wove its way into her system. She had long forgiven her father for not wanting to establish his real relation to her. She recalled the two of them standing, together and separately at the same time, by the edge of Curt's coffin. One thought came to her: protection. Increasingly, she became thankful, feeling blessed for his company. He was the only one who could ever fathom what she felt, _how_ she felt about Curt.

Spotting a marble bench with help from the faint moonlight, Rhea sat herself and took out her most-treasured poetry book, opening it to Curt's dedication.

"Listen to what daddy said to me, Emile." she murmured to the little boy inside her. "Rhea. With you, I feel close to home. Love always, Curt."

FIN

_Note_: Hope ya'll have enjoyed this. Please review! No, I'm not asking for praise. I just really want to know what you think of the story.


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